Read Patrice Greenwood - Wisteria Tearoom 03 - An Aria of Omens for Free Online Page B

doing a brisk business in hot beverages, and beverages of a different warming nature. Patrons with cups strolled the terrace.
    Tony paused to look at the bust of Stravinsky set in a place of honor at one side of the terrace. “That the Stravinsky?”
    “It is.”
    “He conducted here?”
    “He raised money for rebuilding after the first theatre burned down. I think he may have conducted something for that, but it probably would have been in town. Anyway, the second theatre wouldn’t have been built without his help.”
    “Huh.”
    We ambled back in the direction of the house. Tony paused, looking across toward the south side. “What’s over there?”
    “Another patio, with another bar. This side is nicer.”
    “What are those tall things? Sails?”
    “Wind-breaks. The new roof took care of the rain problem, but it can still get pretty breezy.”
    He nodded thoughtfully, then looked at me with a quirked brow. “And people pay a lot of money for this?”
    “Yes. Putting on a season of world-class opera is ridiculously expensive.”
    He looked over at the stage and shook his head slightly. I could practically hear his thoughts; he’d rather be home drinking beer and watching football. Or whatever they played in the summer—baseball.
    “Would you like to go up to the mezzanine?” I said.
    “No, Manny and Thomas just came in. Let’s go sit down.”
    We made our way back to our seats. As I’d expected, Manny and Mr. Ingraham were the most formally dressed men in the house. Most of the audience were dressed casually, though a few men wore suits, and a few ladies wore long dresses. It amazed me that people dressed with so little care to attend an event for which seats cost over a hundred dollars.
    But then, Superbowl tickets were also ridiculously expensive, and look how people dressed for that.
    Stifling a sigh, I opened my program and flipped past the slick ads for galleries, jewelers, and real estate to find the page for Tosca . Tony followed my lead and was soon perusing the synopsis, for which I was almost sorry.
    It wasn’t a pretty story. Jealousy, torture, blackmail, murder. High drama, and the music was powerful, but definitely not a light evening’s entertainment. The Magic Flute would have been a better first-time opera.
    “The lead baritone is a wonderful singer,” I said. “Victor Solano. I’ve heard him here before.”
    “Is he the one that was at Vi’s tea?” Claudia asked. “I thought he looked familiar.”
    “Yes. He’s taken her under his wing, she told me.”
    “That’s excellent. She’s off to a good start.”
    “She’s singing tonight?” Tony asked.
    “In the chorus, yes. We’ll have to see if we can spot her.”
    “She’s hard to miss.”
    Manny chuckled. I took my opera-glasses out of my bag and used them to inspect the Italianate columns on the stage.
    “Are those the ones Edmund gave you?” asked Nat.
    “Yes,” I said, handing them across to her.
    One of many gifts my father gave me. They were French, and antique, and entirely frivolous, ornamented with mother of pearl. I adored them.
    A pang of grief caught me off guard. This was the first time I’d been to the opera since my father had died. So many times we’d gone as a family. I felt the sudden pressure of tears behind my eyelids.
    “I’m going to visit the Ladies’ before it begins,” I said, standing.
    I left my coat and my program on the seat and hurried toward the south courtyard, needing a moment away from the others to compose myself. A couple of tears escaped, but I managed to avoid smearing my makeup, and succeeded in distracting myself.
    Later, after I got home, I’d indulge in a good cry. I was about due for one.
    I emerged from the washroom to hear the orchestra tuning up in earnest. The house lights blinked a warning. I returned to my seat just as the conductor took his podium, to a smattering of applause.
    Nat passed my glasses back to me. Tony put them in my hand and turned his head, giving